


t minus zero

by budgeridoo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, technically mtf!poland not nyo!poland
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-01
Updated: 2013-11-01
Packaged: 2017-12-31 03:46:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 10
Words: 16,522
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1026879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/budgeridoo/pseuds/budgeridoo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Things like this… things like this don’t happen to them. Not to them. Not to Ludwig.</p><p>TRIGGER WARNING: centered around recovery from sexual assault, contains flashbacks and short- and long-term aftermath.</p><p>Full list of names, warnings, and characters in the notes to the first chapter.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> CHARACTERS in order of appearance: Ludwig Beilschmidt/Feliciano Vargas (GerIta), Officer Nguyen (Vietnam), Sadik Adnan (Turkey), Helena Karpusi (mama Greece), Gilbert Beilschmidt (Prussia), Lovino Vargas (Romano), Yong Soo Im (South Korea), Chun-Yen Wang (fem!China), Alfred Jones/Yekaterina Braginskaya (AmeUkr), Manon (Monaco), Raivis Galante (Latvia), Marianne Bonnefoy (fem!France), Peter Kirkland (Sealand), Nonno/Augustus Vargas (Rome), Opa/Ewald Beilschmidt (Germania), Mr. Machado (Cuba), Carmen Fernandez Carriedo (fem!Spain), Felicja Łukasiewicz (fem/mtf!Poland)/Julija Laurinaitis (fem!Lithuania), Sakura Honda (fem!Japan), Mei (Taiwan), Lotte (Belgium), Coach Vasilescu (Romania); and mentions of Irina Braginskaya (fem!Russia), Carlino Vargas (Seborga), Arthur Kirkland (England), Matthew Williams (Canada), and Herakles Karpusi (Greece). Implied Giripan, RomaBel, and FrUK.
> 
> TRIGGER WARNINGS: aftermath of rape, flashbacks, mentions of intimate partner and transphobic rape. Also contains consensual sex near the end.
> 
> QUICK NOTE: NONE of the rapists ever mentioned in any part of this story are Hetalia characters. They are faceless, nameless human OCs.

 

It is 12:26 AM, thirty-one minutes after It happened.   
  
It is very cold, for the spring, and Ludwig Beilschmidt shivers. The pavement of the backlot is pebbly and rough and digs into his cheek and legs.   
  
He does not really know what he wants, but:  
  
He wants to die.   
  
He wants to go away.   
  
He wants everything else to go away.   
  
He wants to go back to his apartment and take a shower and lie down next to Feliciano Vargas and pretend It never happened.   
  
He wants to not feel—the sore ache in his hips and back and thighs, the bruises forming on his wrists and hips and neck, the exhaustion and humiliation and horror piling up in the back of his throat, the remnants of nausea churning deep inside his stomach, the still-there  _in-out-in-out_ —  
  
—He wants to stand up, but he can’t.   
  
Reaching for his trousers (they threw them out of the car after him), Ludwig manages to fumble his phone out of a pocket. Still slow and uncoordinated from the aftereffects of whatever-it-was they slipped in his drink, he enters the passcode and dials 911.   
  
A woman answers. “Hello?”  
  
“I—I need—” Ludwig takes a deep breath. “I need to report a rape.”  
  
“Where are you?”  
  
“Backlot of Densen’s Bar, ten-twenty-eight Short Street.” His voice is scratchy, and his hand trembles as it holds the phone, and there’s blood and—and—a-and—and  _semen_  drying on the backs of his thighs, and Ludwig Beilschmidt knows what he wants.   
  
He wants Feliciano and Gilbert and Alfred and everybody not to know about this, not to see him like this.   
  
“Please hurry.”  
  


* * *

  
  
It is 1:43 AM, one hour and forty-eight minutes after It happened, but Feliciano Vargas doesn’t know that It happened.   
  
Here is what he does know:  
  
Ludwig didn’t come home.   
  
Ludwig always comes home.   
  
The phone is ringing.   
  
He picks up.   
  
“‘Lo?”  
  
“Feli?”  
  
Feliciano nearly drops the phone. “Ludwig? Are you okay? Where are you—did anything happen—I was really worried but is everything okay?”  
  
“I’m at the police station.”  
  
Those words drop lead right into Feliciano’s stomach, because he just noticed the fragile timbre of Ludwig’s voice and how roughened and quiet it is. “What happened?”  
  
“It’s—it’s not something for saying over the phone.”  
  
More lead. “Are you okay?”  
  
Silence. A brief intake of breath. “I’m at the station on Fourth Street. Please come.”  
  
“I’ll be right there.” Feliciano rolls out of bed, dressing as fast as he can, and only stops at the door to put on tennis shoes before sprinting down the hallway, shifting through the interminable elevator ride, and hurrying out the door and down the street. Fourth Street is just a few blocks away, and Feliciano is fast, and Ludwig’s going to be fine anyway, oh please oh please he’s going to be just fine. 

  
  
Feliciano bursts through the door of the police station, very out of breath, and hurries up to the officer on duty. Leaning on the desk, he gasps “Is there— is Ludwig Beilschmidt here?”  
  
The officer—Nguyen, it says on her nametag—looks up at him with a youngish, severe face. “Your name?”  
  
“Feliciano Vargas.”  
  
Officer Nguyen exhales slowly, and there’s a sort of sympathy on her face that makes the twisting in Feliciano’s stomach get ten times worse. She stands up, saying “Iglesias, could you take over now?”, and motions for Feliciano to follow her into a side room and sit down.   
  
“He’s—he’s not in here,” is all he can think to say.   
  
“I’m so sorry to have to tell you this,” Officer Nguyen begins, and her next words make the bottom drop out of Feliciano’s world.   
  
He can’t register most of the things she says after that, they just don’t fit into his head, but he catches phrases—three men, a car, ten-forty PM, more when we get the kit back—and the twisting in his stomach grows worse and worse and he’s going to throw up and  _this doesn’t happen to them_.   
  
It happens to people you don’t know.   
  
Maybe people you do.   
  
But not to them, not to him and Ludwig, not when they have jobs and an apartment and three and a half years together and plans for more, not to  _Ludwig_ —  
  
Feliciano realizes he’s crying, face in his hands, but it still doesn’t feel real at all and he’s going to wake up soon next to Ludwig who won’t be hurt at all, but instead Officer Nguyen reaches out and pats him on the shoulder.   
  
“I’m so sorry,” she says. “So, so sorry.”  
  
Feliciano tries to breathe evenly, shaking, and finally manages to regain enough composure to quaver “C-can I s-see him?”  
  


* * *

  
  
It is 2:30 AM, two hours and thirty-five minutes after It happened.   
  
Here is what Ludwig will let himself think of:  
  
The fact that the shock blanket they gave him smells vaguely of toast and antiseptic.   
  
Here is what Ludwig will not let himself think of:

How they had to take DNA samples and catalogue injuries.   
  
The way  _they_  had joked with each other as they shoved his face into the back seat.   
  
How he can imagine Feliciano’s gentle face twisted with disgust and shame, shame that he associated with someone so—so  _stupid_ , so stupid and pathetic and filthy and  _weak_ —  
  
And the door opens and Ludwig sees Feliciano for about half a second before he bolts to the chair where Ludwig is sitting, wraps his arms around him, and buries his face in his neck. He’s been crying, Ludwig can always tell when Feliciano’s been crying, and he starts up again, trembling like a leaf and clinging to Ludwig.   
  
“I’m sorry,” he hiccups. “I’ll kill them—oh God, Ludwig, I’m so sorry—I’ll  _kill_  them—oh my God—” His fingers are curled up in the shock blanket and his shirt is one of Ludwig’s old ones and he’s pressed so close to Ludwig he can feel his heartbeat and Ludwig presses his face to Feliciano’s tangled hair and tells himself  _it’s okay it’s Feliciano he’s safe he doesn’t hate you it’s okay_.  
  
Feliciano hiccups a few more times, wiping his eyes, and looks up at Ludwig with a tearstained face. “Let’s—let’s get you home, okay?” he says in a very small voice, and folds Ludwig’s hands in his own.   
  
Ludwig nods, too drained to speak, and lets Feliciano help him up.   
  


* * *

  
  
It is 2:58 AM, three hours and three minutes after It happened.   
  
Stumbling with fatigue, Feliciano leads Ludwig into the small, darkened apartment and toes off his shoes.   
  
“Why don’t—why don’t you go take a shower and I’ll make you some tea and—and call in sick for you?” he says, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible.   
  
Ludwig nods and not-exactly-whispers “Could you bring me my pajamas?”  
  
“I—now?”  
  
“Yes. Long sleeves, please?”  
  
“All right.” Feliciano pads into the bedroom and finds an old long-sleeved shirt and some pajama pants, still feeling surreal and not-really-happening, and hands them to Ludwig, who disappears into the bathroom. He begins making the tea in a sort of daze, following the familiar steps.   
  
The tea is ready.   
  
The shower’s still running.   
  
Feliciano’s finished his cup, and Ludwig’s is growing cold.   
  
The shower’s still running.   
  
Feliciano is suddenly very worried.   
  
Just as he’s steeling himself to go into the bathroom and make sure Ludwig’s not—make sure he’s okay, the door opens and Ludwig comes out, shoulders slumped and head hanging low. The long sleeves don’t entirely cover the bruising at his wrists, and the ones on his throat are visible too, and Feliciano has to swallow down a knot of pure anger— _how dare they do that how dare they hurt him_ —before hugging him and quietly saying “Your tea went cold but I can warm it up and do you want me to call your boss now or in the morning?”  
  
“Morning.” Ludwig is tensing up under Feliciano’s hands and it brings the lump back into his throat.   
  
“Do you want me to call Gilbert?”  
  
“In the morning.”  
  
Feliciano swallows again. “Is it okay if I call Lovino? Because I’d have to tell him what happened, but—”  
  
“‘S okay.”  
  
“Do you want to go to bed?”  
  
“Please.” Feliciano realizes something very suddenly, which is that Ludwig hasn’t met his eyes all evening—morning—whatever it is, and another thing, which is Ludwig is barely keeping himself upright and bed is definitely a good idea. He leads Ludwig to bed, letting him curl up and rest his head on Feliciano’s chest, and trails his fingers through Ludwig’s hair and down across his broad back.   
  
“Stay,” Ludwig mumbles, eyes falling shut. Somehow, Feliciano feels like he doesn’t just mean don’t move.  
  
“Of course I will.”  
  
Neither of them sleep well. 


	2. Chapter 2

Message left on the phone of Sadik Adnan at 6:51 AM:  
  
“Um. Hello, Mr. Adnan? I’m Feliciano Vargas and I’m calling for Ludwig Beilschmidt? He. He got hurt last night and he can’t come in for a while, it’s really bad. I—sorry. Call back?”

  
Message left on the phone of Helena Karpusi at 6:55 AM:  
  
“Mrs. Karpusi? It’s Feliciano. I can’t come in for work today, there’s a family emergency. Sorry.”  
  


Phone conversation held with Gilbert Beilschmidt at 7:02 AM:  
  
“Gilbert? It’s Feli.”  
  
“Morning, Feli—hey, you don’t sound too good, did something happen?”  
  
Silence. “Yes.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“It’s—oh my God, Gilbert, I’m sorry, it’s Ludwig—”  
  
“What happened to him—”  
  
“He—I’m so sorry, Gilbert, h-he—”  
  
“Feliciano what happened—”  
  
“He was—he was r-raped.”  
  
“WHAT?” A pause. “Who did it? Feli, you tell me who did it and I swear to Christ I’ll rip their worthless fucking guts out nobody does that to my baby brother  _I swear to Jesus fucking Christ_ —”  
  
“Gilbert, please not so loud.”  
  
“Sorry.” An exhale. “Jesus fucking Christ, I just—” A stream of entirely incomprehensible German, steadily rising in volume and intensity until—  
  
“Gilbert please could you come over? He needs—we need you.”  
  
“Yeah. Of course. I’ll be right over, I just—Jesus  _Christ_ —it’s—why would—I’ll fucking kill the bastards. Be right over.”  
  
“Thank you.”

  
Phone conversation held with Lovino Vargas at 7:23 AM:  
  
“Feli I’ve told you a million times never call me before nine—”  
  
“It’s really important, Vino.”  
  
“It’d better—what’s wrong.”  
  
“I—”  
  
“You’ve been crying. I can hear it. What’s wrong?”  
  
“It’s Ludwig.”  
  
“What, did he dump you?”  
  
“No! It’s—oh my God. It’s really bad, I just—I just really need you to come over—”  
  
“Feli. What happened.”  
  
Pause. Inhale. “Ludwig—Ludwig was raped.”  
  
Long pause. “Holy shit.”  
  
“Come over please?”  
  
“I’ll be right there, I just—oh my God, really?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Oh my God Feli I’m so sorry, that’s—that’s  _shitty_ —oh my God I thought it was just you had a fight or something I’m really sorry that’s really fucking shitty—”  
  
“It is.”  
  
“I’ll be over in forty-five minutes.”  
  
“Thanks, Vino.”

* * *

  
It is 8:24 AM, eight hours and twenty-nine minutes after It happened.   
  
Gilbert and Lovino arrive within five minutes of each other, each with an overnight bag. Gilbert is first, and he makes a beeline for Ludwig, aquiline face and wiry frame and tough hands that pull Ludwig close until he’s leaning against his older brother.   
  
“Shit, kid,” Gilbert mutters in hoarse German, “I’m so sorry—those  _fuckers_  won’t know what hit them—” He curses more, Gilbert always does when he’s agitated, and Ludwig holds onto him like he did when he was younger. Gilbert’s lean arms surround Ludwig and he shuts his eyes  _this is safe this is safe Gilbert’s safe_  and rests his head on Gilbert’s shoulder. Ludwig registers that Feliciano’s slightly shorter, stockier brother has come in as well, and is speaking with Feliciano in hushed Italian, glancing over at them from time to time.   
  
With a final squeeze, Gilbert pulls back and says “I’m staying over. No exceptions.”  
  
Ludwig nods, relieved even though he knows Gilbert and Lovino don’t really get along—not many people get along well with Lovino—because his brother has never been anything but there for him.   
  
Lovino slips between them and gives Ludwig a rather perfunctory hug, and says “And if any of you think I’m letting Feli deal with this alone you’re dead wrong. Where do I sleep?”  
  
Gilbert and Lovino end up rock-paper-scissoring for the air mattress, and for a moment it seems almost normal, but Ludwig still  _aches_  and he knows Gilbert’s seen the bruises, and probably Lovino as well, and he can’t stop his mind from what-iffing:  
  
What if they’re disgusted?  
  
What if they’re only here because they have to be?  
  
What if they think it’s his fault—well, that wouldn’t be strange, it  _is_ , because he’d been careless and  _stupid_ —  
  
Feliciano is standing by his side, and lays a hand on his arm just above the elbow, and Ludwig jumps a little. He’s begun to shake, trying to shut his thoughts up, and curses himself internally, but Feliciano gives him another quick hug and Gilbert stops sulking at the refusal of best-two-of-three to pat his shoulder on his way into the kitchen.   
  
Ludwig sort of drifts through the rest of the day, and Feliciano tries to coax him into naps but he can’t sleep, and Gilbert and Lovino cook dinner but he doesn’t eat that much of it, and this pattern continues for most of the weekend as well. 

* * *

  
It is 9:56 PM, twenty-two hours and one minute after It happened.   
  
Feliciano sits down next to Lovino on the couch, feeling very tired and old, and he’s never felt like that before, and he needs to talk.   
  
Gilbert and Ludwig are in the tiny home office, doing something—talking, hopefully, but that’s unlikely since Ludwig’s spoken the equivalent of roughly two paragraphs all day (and it’s killing Feliciano because Ludwig isn’t a chatterbox but he talked, normally, before It)—and Feliciano is rather grateful for the privacy.   
  
He still switches to Italian, just in case.   
  
“Lovino?” He curls up next to his brother, like when he was little and watching a sad movie.   
  
“Mm?” Lovino places an arm around him—again like when they were little (when he was young the worst he could imagine happening ever was all the linguini in the world vanishing) and Feliciano would be scared of the dark or noises in the night.   
  
“I don’t know what to do.”  
  
“Neither do I.”  
  
“I just—I’m scared for him and I don’t know how to help and I don’t know what to do and I don’t know how to deal with something like this and I don’t understand why anyone would want to hurt him so much and I don’t know how to make it better and I feel like I  _should_  know but I  _don’t_  and it’s really scary and and and—”  
  
Lovino probably has some sort of sixth sense for when Feliciano is about to cry, because he hauls Feliciano closer into a hug. “I know, Feli—hey, shhh, shhh, you’re doing what you can—”  
  
“No ‘m not,” sniffles Feliciano. “Could do more.”  
  
“Like?”  
  
“I don’t  _know_!” He yells. “ _I don’t know that’s the problem—_ ”  
  
“ _None of us do_!” Lovino yells back. “None of us do so why don’t we go look it up there’s probably five billion manuals on what to do doesn’t he like manuals anyway?”  
  
“ _Okay_!” Feliciano doesn’t know why he’s still shouting but he should quiet down before Ludwig and Gilbert get nervous. “Okay. Look it up. Okay.”  
  
“We can go book shopping or something tomorrow.” Lovino pats Feliciano on the back. “Google searches, sort of thing.”  
  
Feliciano mumbles “Thanks, Vino,” burrowing his face into his older brother’s shirt.   
  
“You’ll do okay,” Lovino replies, and Feliciano tries to believe him. 


	3. Chapter 3

It is Sunday, 6:18 PM, two days, eighteen hours, and twenty-three minutes after It happened.   
  
Feliciano has spent nearly the entire afternoon doing research online, and yesterday scouring bookstores with Lovino, and the morning reading the books, and he feels completely overwhelmed and exhausted and there are  _so many things_  the internet and the support forums and the books say he has to do and be and say and he kind of wants to yell into a pillow for a while.   
  
Lots of things, that need to be organized, and how can Feliciano—  
  
He has it. Make lists, that’s what Ludwig told him once, you need lists or you’ll mix yourself up so  _please_  put milk on the grocery list after you drink the last of it. Feliciano nods to himself, pulling a legal pad over and tapping the pen against his teeth.   
  
Lists. Okay. List of? Hm.   
  
Tap, tap.   
  
 _Things to talk about with Ludwig_. There. Okay. Simple.   
  
 _Prosecution_ —Feliciano pauses, then underlines it.   
  
 _If he wants to talk or not about what happened_ —Feliciano’s fingers shake a little on that one, and the writing goes crooked.   
  
 _Going back to work_  
  
 _How can I help/how can Gilbert/Al/Lovino/Arthur/Marianne/Mattie help_  
  
 _Boundaries_ —Feliciano underlines that one a lot, then rips the page out of the pad and stares at it.   
  
Five things. Just five. Five that unfold and unfold into thousands of ways it could go wrong, ways Feliciano could make it go wrong (as if you didn’t already when you didn’t go with him— no, no he will not think that) until he realizes that he’s holding the paper so hard it’s crinkling at the edges and he should stop because the pen he used is runny and the list is important and he doesn’t want to smudge it. There’s a clatter from the kitchen, bowl in the sink, probably, where Gilbert and Ludwig are doing the cooking.   
  
After dinner, he will talk to Ludwig about the list. He  _will_.   
  
  
Feliciano clutches the sheet of paper as he crawls under the covers. From the living room come the sounds of muted squabbling as Gilbert settles on the couch and Lovino on the air mattress, and in the bedroom there’s the faint sounds of the street through the partly-open window. And the shower.   
  
It turns off eventually, and Ludwig comes in wearing long sleeves again and settles on the bed. Feliciano doesn’t think he’ll sleep, he didn’t much last night, and he scoots closer to Ludwig.   
  
“Um. Lulu?”  
  
That’s a  _private_  nickname, because Ludwig gets embarrassed if Feliciano uses it in public, and it means that what they say here is private private private.   
  
Ludwig nods.   
  
“I—uh, I’ve got some stuff to talk to you about.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
Just look at the list, or you’ll mess yourself up— “Do you want to prosecute the—” —and swallow, hard, the forum said don’t get angry— “—them?”  
  
“ _Yes_.”  
  
“Because you know they’ll ask you a lot of questions and not all of them will be nice and you’ll have to talk about It but also considering the evidence they’d get put in jail so—”  
  
“I know.” Ludwig stares at his knees, drawn up to his chest. “Still want to.”  
  
“Okay so could you hand me that pencil?” Feliciano catches Ludwig’s look. “I need to write this down.”  
  
He gets the pencil and scribbles  _ok_  right under  _prosecution_. “And. Um. This one’s sort of related but do you want to talk with me or anyone about what happened? Because it’s okay if you don’t want to now but—”  
  
The way Ludwig’s posture stiffens and closes up is answer enough. Feliciano pencils  _no_  under  _if he wants to talk or not about what happened_.   
  
“But you know if you know any way I or Gilbert or Vino or Alfred or anyone else can help you need to say it even if it’s awkward, okay?”  
  
Nod.   
  
“So… ?”  
  
“Think—” Ludwig ducks his head a little. “I think just staying… staying close is good. For now.”  
  
Feliciano pencils that in. Going back to work, he decides, can wait until they get Ludwig outside in the first place, and here goes.   
  
 _Boundaries_.   
  
“Lulu? These might get kind of, um, awkward but I need to ask, okay?”  
  
“Okay.”  
  
“Is it okay if I touch you?” He sees the  _look_  on Ludwig’s face and backtracks quickly. “ _Not like that_  just like baths and touching your hair and stuff not like sex touching just cuddling and stuff. Is that okay?”  
  
Ludwig un-tenses a little. “Yes. Except baths.”  
  
“Um. Is it okay if I ask why?”  
  
“I don’t—I don’t want to. Um. Not have clothes—”  
  
“Okay so no naked and no sex. Got it.” Feliciano adds those in under  _boundaries_ , and then “What about hugs?”  
  
“Those are okay. But tell me.”  
  
“All right. And um, kisses—”  
  
“Prefer not on the mouth.”  
  
“So just on your face?”  
  
Another nod. Feliciano sets the pencil down on the nightstand along with the list because that’s enough for tonight, and quietly says “We can talk more in the morning with Gilbert and Lovino about prosecuting, all right?”  
  
There’s a soft noise of agreement, and Feliciano turns out the light and lets Ludwig curl up against him, and wraps his arms around him and whispers “Good night.”

* * *

  
It is— Ludwig doesn’t know exactly what time it is, somewhere in the grey between Sunday night and Monday morning, and he doesn’t know because he is not entirely awake. He is, however, dreaming, and in his dream--  
  
\--in his dream, It is happening.   
  
Again.   
  
It is happening, same as last time, and same as last time Ludwig can’t stop it or fight them or make noise and one of  _them_  is twisting his arm behind his back with one hand and holding his throat with the other and Ludwig can barely move and and and--  
  
\--it hurts, It  _hurts_ \--  
  
\--and there’s a voice but it’s not one of theirs it’s Feliciano’s what is he doing here--  
  
“--wig? Ludwig are you okay? Oh my God Ludwig are you all right—I—”  
  
Ludwig is brought back to reality with a sharp gasp and the realization that there are sheets underneath him and Feliciano’s round eyes about half a foot from his own and Feliciano’s voice fills the grey stillness and drives the interior of a car from his mind (although not far, never far, it’s been there since It and will it never leave).   
  
“Did—did you have a nightmare?”  
  
Ludwig pauses, trying to breathe enough to think clearly, and nods.   
  
Then there are warm arms around him and Feliciano stroking his hair and breathing is a little easier now and Ludwig tries to relax.   
  
It’s not working.   
  
He lies back down anyway, thinking  _breathe breathe just breathe you’ll be all right_  and trying to follow his own advice. Over Feliciano’s shoulder, which moves as his arms continue stroking Ludwig’s back, Ludwig sees the alarm clock glowing red.   
  
It is Monday, 2:47 AM, three days, two hours, and fifty-two minutes after It happened, and Ludwig rests his head on Feliciano’s shoulder and does not really sleep for a very long time. 


	4. Chapter 4

It is Monday, 9:21 AM, three days, eight hours, and thirty-four minutes after It happened.   
  
Feliciano has decided that they should go for a walk, and Ludwig can’t find it in himself to argue. Gilbert and Lovino are at work, Ludwig—has decided that working from home is a better idea right now, and it’s not tourist season yet so Feliciano can go missing for another day or two before Mrs. Karpusi wants him back. They have agreed, the four of them, that in the afternoon they will all go down to the police station to work out the prosecution and answer questions and make sure Ludwig doesn’t freeze up the way he does when someone asks him too much about It because then It starts creeping back into his mind and he can’t make It go away and he starts  _seeing—_  
  
Walk. Right. He can do that, it’s just outside and he used to run every morning, this is usual. Simple. Nothing to be afraid of.   
  
Ludwig’s hands still shake as they tie his shoes, though.  _Weak_ , he thinks, and then tries to squash that thought and bury it deep.   
  
“Ready to go?” Feliciano looks at him from where he’s bouncing on the balls of his feet, and Ludwig nods. He knows Feliciano hasn’t really gone outside—outside for a walk, not just to get somewhere—for a while, and he gets antsy if he’s indoors for too long and whose fault is tha— _no_. Shut up.   
  
Feliciano links their arms and they walk out the apartment door and then, a minute or two later, down the street. It’s not full, but there are people milling around, and cars, and it looks… normal.   
  
Ludwig takes deep breaths.   
  
“I was thinking we could go to that little park off of Byron?” Feliciano looks up at him, breaking into a gentle trot. “Or do you just want to go around the block?”  
  
“Park sounds nice.”  
  
There are people looking at him, he knows.   
  
Feliciano keeps a steady pace, if slow, and occasionally points out a stray dogwalker or an interesting cloud, and Ludwig tries to focus on that instead of the  _stares_.   
  
The logical side of his mind says nobody’s looking at you, you’re overreacting.   
  
The rest of his mind says yes, they’re looking, and they know what happened somehow and you know what they’re thinking. They’re thinking  _stupid, stupid, didn’t leave the bar with his friends_ ,  _stupid, stayed and talked with people he didn’t know too well_ ,  _stupid, weak, didn’t fight back, let them, must have wanted—_  
  
 _No!_  
  
But, the rest of his mind says, if you’re thinking it, why shouldn’t they? Why shouldn’t they think you’re weak and stupid, why shouldn’t they think you wan—  
  
Ludwig desperately tries to block out those voices, ignore the stares burning into his skin. Feliciano must have noticed the changes—the tension in his shoulders, the roughness of his breath, the way he’s turned his head down to avoid seeing anyone—and looks up at him.   
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
Ludwig knows that the “I’m fine” he gives in reply is too fast, too obviously untrue, but he can’t do anything about it and saying “No” will mean—  
  
“Do you want to go back?”  
  
—that Feliciano will be disappointed in him for not even being able to go outside, and Ludwig will be disappointed in himself, and the gentle squeeze Feliciano gives Ludwig’s hand clears some of the voices away and gives his voice enough strength to say “No.”  
  
If he concentrates, concentrates on Feliciano’s hand in his and the way the sidewalk feels under his shoes, and doesn’t make eye contact, it’s a little easier.   
  
Feliciano guides them onward, and once they enter the park it’s like all the stares are lifted from Ludwig—there’s nobody here, and there’s a stillness despite the honking cars, and then Feliciano flops down on the grass beneath a tree and Ludwig follows him.   
  
“I think I’ll go back to work tomorrow,” Feliciano murmurs eventually. “Will you be okay?”  
  
“Yes.” Ludwig stares at the leaves wafting gently in the April air.  
  
“Remember when we came here about a month after we got together and just laid around and talked?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And then when we said goodnight you kissed me, and it was the first time you ever had.” Feliciano smiles distantly. “It was nice, even if you weren’t good at it.”   
  
“Thanks?” Ludwig does remember, nerves in his stomach and how Feliciano’s smile had broadened afterwards.   
  
It’s very calm here, maybe something in the green, but it seems to drain away the relentless voices, and Feliciano wiggles closer until they’re side by side and mumbles “‘M very glad you did,” leaning his head on Ludwig’s shoulder.   
  
He says “So am I,” and looks up at the green leaves. 

* * *

  
It is Thursday, 1:06 PM, six days, thirteen hours, and eleven minutes after It happened.   
  
It’s hard. It’s so hard.   
  
Ludwig’s started having flashbacks.   
  
They’re not incredibly common, and half the time they’re nightmares so Feliciano’s there at least, and he knows Ludwig and Gilbert started going over breathing-and-calming-down exercises, but they’re there and Feliciano wishes he could just do magic and make them go away or go back in time and stop It from happening or make it be him and not Ludwig but he can’t, he can’t do anything but try and bring Ludwig back when they happen.   
  
He has a tour group to lead through the museum, though, a high-school class, and he has to concentrate because yesterday he didn’t and then he got upset and snapped at a bunch of second-graders. So stop thinking about Ludwig, get into the art-space, keep their attention you’re  _good_  at that you’re a people person, do your job.   
  
He can’t stop thinking about Ludwig, though, because last night was bad and Lovino had to move back out on Tuesday and Gilbert’s job has odd hours and he doesn’t know what to  _do_ , he knows what the books say but he still can’t make it better and he really wants to yell—  
  
— _shut up shut up tell them about Romanticism and shut up_ —  
  
—Instead, he starts crying in front of a Turner and a class of eleventh-graders, and apologizes quickly, turning away and trying to stuff the tears back down and save them for when he’s on break but it’s not  _working_  and then someone taps him on the shoulder.   
  
It’s one of the students. Asian, sweatshirt sleeves covering his hands, ripped jeans, nametag proclaiming him Hello! My Name Is Yong Soo, last seen being loud at the back of the group, and he hugs Feliciano before Feliciano can think twice. Hello! My Name Is Yong Soo is gangly and nearly Feliciano’s height and oddly comforting for someone Feliciano’s never met in his life, and Feliciano manages to say “Sorry, it’s not been a good week” to the room at large before attempting a watery smile which doesn’t work at all and he spends a good thirty more seconds crying on the shoulder of Yong Soo before pulling himself together and wiping his face.   
  
“Not a good week,” he repeats shakily. “Thanks.”  
  
“No problem,” Yong Soo replies.   
  
The rest of the class is shuffling awkwardly, and Feliciano sniffles, clears his throat, and then manages a bright “Okay!” before continuing the tour.   
  
  
When he gets home, the first thing he does is find the biggest, thickest pillow he can.   
  
Then he tapes it to the wall of the home office and starts punching.   
  
Feliciano realizes at some point that he’s yelling— _vi odio vi odio come si permette vorrei che voi foste morti_ —and Ludwig is standing at the door looking very confused and he hits the pillow a few more times before slumping to the floor.   
  
He feels like he’s going to cry, but he doesn’t. Actually, he feels quite relaxed. And about to cry. But he can manage.   
  
There are footsteps, and then Ludwig kneels carefully next to him.   
  
“Are you all right?”  
  
Feliciano nods.   
  
“Can I have a turn?”  
  
Grinning a little, Feliciano says “Go right ahead” and spends the next eighteen minutes sitting in the living room listening to the sound of punching and things in German that he can’t understand but he’s pretty sure they’re not allowed in newspapers, and halfway through dinner Gilbert comes back and takes a turn too.   
  
Feliciano ends up having to replace the tape on that pillow a lot. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> vi odio vi odio come si permette vorrei che voi foste morti: I hate you I hate you how dare you I wish you were dead


	5. Chapter 5

It is Friday, 3:40 PM, one week, fifteen hours, and forty-five minutes after It happened.   
  
Ludwig is working, albeit from home, but he’s had an arrangement since Tuesday night.   
  
Chun-Yen, who handles lunches and some of the assistant managing at the Mask Café, lives close by and has a car. So, if she comes by at eight in the morning, Ludwig can give her the baked goods he made last night and earlier in the morning, and she can hand off more ingredients, and then he can spend the rest of the day baking and bookkeeping for the café without having to go outside quite yet.   
  
He has gone outside a few more times, but it still feels like every single pedestrian can see the nearly-faded bruises hidden by his clothing and like he can feel what they think and what they think are ugly words like the ones  _they_  used, and without Feliciano or Gilbert there it’s all Ludwig can do not to turn tail and run.   
  
Speaking of Gilbert, he’s moving out on Sunday.   
  
Right now, though, Gilbert is at work, and so is Feliciano, and there’s a batch of ginger cookies in the oven to be handed to Chun-Yen tomorrow, and Ludwig should be concentrating on bookkeeping but he’s not.   
  
He’s debating calling Alfred.   
  
He hasn’t seen Alfred since Monday night when he got called to the Fourth Street station to Assist the Police in Their Inquiries since he’d been at the bar with Ludwig and he knew  _them_ , more or less, he’d said he kind of remembered them from high school, and one of them was a semi-regular at the Mask Café, and what could have been the harm in talking—  
  
Anyway, Ludwig had seen Alfred then, and if he knows Alfred at all Alfred will be blaming himself for It and that’s not where the blame lies and Ludwig can’t let Alfred take it, not Alfred who was his first friend when they were in high school and Ludwig had just moved from Germany and was too nervous to talk to anyone.  
  
He picks up the phone and dials.   
  
“Hey, this is Alfred Jones, what’s—”  
  
“Hello, Alfred.”  
  
There is silence. “Lud.”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
More silence. “How’re you doin’?”  
  
“Better.” There is another silence.   
  
“Uh. Lud. About last Thursday—”  
  
Ludwig knew this was coming, and he’s ready. “It wasn’t your fault—”  
  
“—I feel like crap about that whole thing, man—wait what did you say—oh no. I know you, Lud, and any minute now you’re gonna start blaming yourself and that’s not gonna fly with me.”  
  
“And  _I_  know  _you_  and you were about to start blaming yourself.”  
  
There is a very long pause, and then Alfred coughs.   
  
“Are you really doing better?”  
  
“I—yes.” That’s not a  _lie_ , not as such, but there’s still a little twinge of guilt. “I. Uh. I called to ask if you wanted to go do something. This weekend. Since we haven’t talked in a while.”  
  
“I’m free Sunday, we could go see a movie or something and you could bring Feli and I could bring Kat and it’d be cool and we could go out for food afterwards too! Also get popcorn.”  
  
Ludwig can’t stop himself from smiling, because he can already guess which movie Alfred will want to see and it will be a children’s movie and Feliciano will agree with Alfred and he knows this because it’s happened a million times before, and they always ended up getting the extra-large bag of popcorn too. It’ll be good to distract himself, anyway.   
  
“Sounds good.”  
  
“Great, man—oh  _shit_  my boss is coming over gotta go bye!” And a click.   
  
Ludwig feels like maybe a bit of weight has been lifted off his chest, and goes back to the finances. 

* * *

  
It is Friday, 8:51 PM, one week, twenty hours, and fifty-six minutes after It happened.   
  
Feliciano is able to make edits to the list, which now stands as follows:  
  
 _Prosecution: yes_  
  
 _If he wants to talk or not about what happened: no_  
  
 _Going back to work: this Monday_  
  
 _How can I help/how can Gilbert/Al/Lovino/Arthur/Marianne/Mattie help: stay close_  
  
 _Boundaries: no naked, no sex, hugs ok if ask, kisses ~~only on lips~~ ok on mouth without tongue_  
  
He gives Ludwig a quick kiss on the lips as they settle down for bed, and it’s probably one of the best ones he’s ever had even though physically speaking he’s had way better. 

* * *

  
It is Sunday, 2:07 PM, one week, two days, fourteen hours, and twelve minutes after It happened.   
  
Ludwig and Feliciano meet Alfred and Yekaterina outside the apartment building, and a debate almost immediately begins over who’s driving.   
  
Feliciano is refused immediately, but calls shotgun; Alfred ends up backing out, as does Ludwig, so it is up to Yekaterina and Alfred and Ludwig have to sit in the—  
  
—in the backseat.   
  
It hasn’t been a good day for Ludwig regardless, he was up early because of nightmares and the outside made him kind of jittery but he will be damned if he can’t go see a children’s movie, if he disappoints Feliciano and Alfred and Yekaterina and himself, but the backseat—and this car is kind of similar to the one where—  
  
Ludwig takes deep breaths and counts to five. It is not the same car. Nobody here wants to hurt him. Deep breaths.   
  
Yekaterina has started driving, and Alfred and Feliciano are chattering, and Ludwig balls his hands into fists and tries to pretend that nothing is wrong—  
  
— _they’re laughing above him and maybe that cuts deeper than their words but he’s being split in half regardless god please_ —  
  
No no  _no_  he is not going to start thinking about It now, deep breaths and count to five—  
  
— _one of them turns him over so they’re face to face and that’s the worst because he has to see he can’t just hide his face in the seat and his stare digs its way into his skin like burning metal and all he can do is close his eyes_ —  
  
Deep breaths  _deep breaths_ —  
  
— _when they get him into the car he knows what’s going to happen but he can’t do anything move fight yell anything and all he can do is hope it’s some horrible unfunny cruel joke as they hold him down and later he realizes to them it is_ —  
  
—the car pulls over and Ludwig lunges for the door, barely noticing Alfred’s “oof”, and manages to make it to a trashcan before he’s sick. Feliciano hurries down the sidewalk after him, Alfred and Yekaterina following, and Yekaterina hands him a tissue to wipe his mouth with and Feliciano holds him by the upper arms and looks right into his eyes.   
  
“Ludwig. Name five things you see.”  
  
He tries to get his breath under control enough to speak, digging his nails into his palms. “T-trashcan. A bookstore. A skyscraper. Some cars. A parking meter.” Breathe in, breathe out, count five. You don’t see the car, you’re not in the car, it’s not here.   
  
“Good. Okay. Four things you feel.”   
  
Alfred has started patting his back, awkwardly but still there, so “Alfred. Um. My shoes. There’s sort of a breeze. It’s warm.”  
  
“Three sounds.” Feliciano is moving in for a hug. Breathe in.   
  
“Cars. People talking. The air conditioner in the building near us.” He glances up at the small restaurant behind them. “They should fix that.”  
  
Breathe out. “Two smells.”  
  
“Asphalt.” Breathe in. “Greek food.” Breathe out.   
  
Feliciano looks up at him. “What do you like about yourself?”  
  
“I—I’m good at making cakes.” There. There. It’s okay.   
  
It’s the first time It has made him throw up, and Ludwig wishes it hadn’t been in public where it would make Alfred go white-faced and Yekaterina look stricken, but it’s over and done with. Gone. There.   
  
Eventually Alfred tries “You okay now?”  
  
Ludwig nods.   
  
Yekaterina takes one look and says “If you want to get back in the car, you are having the front seat.”  
  
“Thanks. Just. Can I have a minute?”  
  
Feliciano stretches up on tiptoes and whispers “You’re sure you’re okay now? Because if—if you want to go back they’d understand—”  
  
“I’m okay.” He takes a final, deep breath, hugs Feliciano back, and then turns to Alfred and repeats “I’m okay.”  
  
He has to close his eyes when he gets into the front seat, but Feliciano leans from the back and squeezes his hand and it’s more okay than before.   
  
  
After the movie, they go out for a snack at Alfred’s insistence. Midway through, he and Feliciano leave to go do something, maybe get more soda, and Yekaterina turns to Ludwig.   
  
“My sister,” she begins, looking more melancholy than Ludwig’s ever seen her before, “my sister Irina had— some of the problems you are having. Her boyfriend was not a nice man.” For a second her face goes icy and brittle, and Ludwig doesn’t know what to say beyond “I’m sorry.”  
  
Yekaterina continues. “She also was very sad and very hurt, but she found—” —she writes hurriedly on a napkin with a purple pen from her bag— “this website, and it helped her. Maybe it will help you?” She looks up, smile nearly back in place. “I cannot do much else, but maybe you should look into it. From what Alfred has told me of you, you and Irina are rather alike.”  
  
Alfred returns with one of the largest sodas Ludwig has ever seen in his life. “Wait. We’re talking about Irina?”  
  
“Sort of.” Yekaterina looks at him, and then the soda.   
  
Alfred sucks in a breath through his teeth and then exhales in a  _whoof_. “Oh.”  
  
Fortunately, Feliciano knows how to change subjects, and starts talking about the movie instead.   
  
When they get home, Ludwig follows Yekaterina’s advice, and remembers how he’d thanked her when he and Feliciano were returning to their apartment building—thank you, Yekaterina—and she’d smiled and told him that Katyusha was just fine.

* * *

  
It is Sunday, 10:34 PM, one week, two days, twenty-two hours, and thirty-nine minutes after It happened.   
  
Feliciano makes a small but important change to the list, just six letters.   
  
 _If he wants to talk or not about what happened: ~~no~~ not yet_


	6. Chapter 6

It is Monday, 7:34 PM, one week, three days, nineteen hours, and thirty-nine minutes after It happened.   
  
Feliciano gets the call while he’s washing the dinner dishes.   
  
 _They’ve_  been arrested.   
  
He hangs up just in time to not burst the officer’s eardrum when he yells.   
  
“Yes, ha  _ha_  you  _bastards_ 're going to rot in hell yes  _yes_ —”  
  
Ludwig jumps off the couch. “What happened?”  
  
Waving the sponge, Feliciano shouts “They got arrested!” and then hurries over and flings his arms around Ludwig’s neck like it’s midnight on New Year’s, and Ludwig returns the hug until Feliciano realizes he’s still holding the sponge and he got the back of Ludwig’s shirt all soapy.   
  
They call over Gilbert and Lovino and have some celebratory cake from the freezer and then decide to make a night of it and all argue over what movie to watch, and for a while it feels almost normal. 

* * *

  
It is Tuesday, 8:01 AM, one week, four days, eight hours, and six minutes after It happened.   
  
Ludwig has decided that today he will go to work.   
  
The Mask Café is walking distance, at a brisk pace and an early start, and Ludwig is good at both of those things, and the streets haven’t hit rush hour yet so he feels a little less watched as he hurries down the sidewalk.   
  
Ludwig had spent most of Sunday evening and Monday looking at the website Yekat— _Katyusha_  had recommended, some kind of forum, and quite a lot of that time had been devoted to working up the nerve to make an account—to open up the possibility of  _strangers_  learning about It—but he had.   
  
The bell over the door jingles as Ludwig walks in. The only people there are Manon, who is wiping down a table, Raivis, who is yawning behind the counter, and apparently Marianne, judging from the noise in the kitchen. Manon nods at him, quickly setting up another table.   
  
“Haven’t seen you in a while,” she says briskly. “Sick?”  
  
“Not exactly. Has everything been okay here?”  
  
“More or less. Some people asked after you—Arthur, Tiina, some regulars. You know.” Manon adjusts the chairs as Ludwig ducks behind the counter to tie on his apron.   
  
Raivis gives him a shaky little smile as he enters the kitchen, drumming his fingers against the cash register. “F-feeling better, Mr. Beilschmidt?”  
  
“Mostly, yes.” He knows nobody at the café knows about It and he’d honestly prefer to keep it that way, because work has always been how he manages stress and ignores things and It already sits like lead everywhere else in his life and encroaches enough on work as it is—one of them came here a lot, and as the day moves on, Ludwig keeps expecting him to come in through the door as his throat closes up and his hands slow in their mixing.   
  
So instead he works, next to a tired-looking Marianne—she might know a little, Alfred is her nephew and she raised him—and even mans the counter for about five minutes while Raivis and Peter swap shifts. Chun-Yen arrives as well, and it feels like a normal day, and in the flour and smells of bread and brownies Ludwig manages to breathe. 

* * *

  
It is Wednesday, 6:11 PM, one week, five days, eighteen hours, and sixteen minutes after It happened.   
  
Gilbert and Lovino have come over again for dinner, and Lovino and Feliciano are making salad, and Ludwig went grocery shopping with Gilbert, and Feliciano can’t concentrate on the cucumber he should be slicing.   
  
He needs to tell Lovino. Ever since he was little, he always could tell Lovino everything, and now, he needs to.   
  
“Lovino?”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
“Promise to listen?”  
  
Lovino stops slicing tomatoes. “Yes.”  
  
“I feel kind of like I’m being selfish.” Pause, collect thoughts. “Because it’s—you know, with Ludwig—it’s hard for me but I just feel like I shouldn’t think it’s hard for me because it’s worse for him, it’s so much worse and he tries to act like it’s not and I just feel really horrible for thinking like that, like I’m complaining about nothing and I shouldn’t feel bad for myself because I wasn’t hurt like Ludwig and there’s all this—this—all this  _shit_  he has to deal with and—” He’s barely breathed at all and there are tears forming a ball in his throat and Lovino sets down the knife and hugs him. Feliciano leans against his brother.   
  
“That’s not selfish,” Lovino murmurs. “Hell, it’s hard for me and we never even got along that well. You’re not selfish, that’s bullshit, and you’re not ‘complaining about nothing’. Say that again and I’ll never cook for you in my life.” He pats Feliciano on the back, letting him sag a little. They hold the hug for a while, not talking.   
  
Eventually Feliciano pulls away with a quiet “thank you”. Lovino nods and returns to the tomato.   
  
“You going to tell Nonno about this?”  
  
Feliciano hangs his head a little. “I’d need to ask Ludwig.”  
  
Lovino grunts and Feliciano decides that he will talk to Ludwig about this. 

* * *

  
It is Thursday, 10:27 PM, one week, six days, twenty-two hours, and thirty-two minutes after It happened.   
  
They both had to call their grandfathers today.   
  
Ludwig doesn’t know how the conversation with Feliciano’s rather bull-headed grandfather went, only that he looked tired afterwards and simply said “He’s not happy about it”.   
  
His own conversation with his Opa had been… interesting, Ludwig had haltingly explained, he’d gone very quiet and his voice had become extremely even and he’d asked a few questions and then hung up. Ludwig knew from experience (mostly Gilbert’s fault) that this meant his Opa was so incredibly angry he couldn’t be bothered with anger. Feliciano had seemed sort of confused by that.   
  
There hadn’t been anything he’d been dreading—blame, denial, disbelief—and he’d called his cousin and his drill-sergeant wife afterwards and nothing he’d been dreading had happened there, just yelling.   
  
Feliciano lifts his head from where it’s pillowed on Ludwig’s chest. “Nonno said Carlino’d like to come over sometime if that’s okay.”  
  
“Hm.” Ludwig doesn’t know much about Feliciano’s younger brother, only that he’s cheerful and friends with Peter.   
  
“Are you okay with that?”  
  
“‘M fine.”  
  
“How’s the—” —Feliciano gestures a little— “—forum thing?”  
  
“Good. They’re nice.” Ludwig shuts his eyes. “They gave me some advice about going outside and finding distractions. Things like that.”  
  
Feliciano hums. “That’s good.” He settles back down onto Ludwig, careful not to pin him—that’s on the list now, no pinning—and Ludwig rests an arm around him.   
  
“They have a thread for relatives and things like that. If you want.”  
  
“I’ll look tomorrow,” mumbles Feliciano, and Ludwig watches him drift off.   
  
He can go outside, and go to work, and kiss with his mouth closed, and talk to people. He can get through.


	7. Chapter 7

It is Saturday, 12:09 PM, three weeks, one day, twelve hours, and fourteen minutes after It happened.   
  
Life has progressed in some fragile semblance of normalcy for the two of them, broken when Ludwig wakes up shaking or Feliciano’s smile cracks and breaks. They still wake up together and eat meals together and go to bed together, but there are days when Ludwig wakes up so early it might still be late and has to clean the kitchen to calm down, or just doesn’t have the appetite for dinner, or tosses and turns far into the night.   
  
Feliciano has taped the list to the nightstand, and it grows. As of now, it reads:  
  
 _Prosecution: yes; need to talk with Mr. Machado and figure out details  
  
If he wants to talk or not about what happened: _ _~~no~~ not yet unless for trial  
  
Going back to work: done!!!  
  
How can I help/how can Gilbert/Al/Lovino/Arthur/Marianne/Mattie help: stay close, give some alone time  
  
Boundaries: no naked, no sex, hugs ok if ask, kisses ~~only on lips~~ ok on mouth without tongue, no pinning, cuddling ok with all clothes on, touching ok above waist_  
  
But there are conversations with Alfred and dinners with their brothers and occasional lunches with Marianne and Arthur-the-curator-for-Arms-and-Armor and the people on the forum are very supportive and last Saturday they went out with Carlino and Feliciano was very enthusiastic about being the Cool Big Brother and taking him out for a movie his grandfather wouldn’t let him see (Ludwig would never say this, but being the Cool Big Pseudo-Brother-in-Law was also quite interesting, if only because he was the youngest in his own family).   
  
Right now, what there is is a meeting.   
  
It’s largely informal, a few people from the forum having a get-together, but Ludwig promised them discounts on lunch and they should be here— five minutes ago, not counting for traffic.   
  
Raivis scurries into the kitchen. “The-there’s three ladies who want to s-see you, Mr. Beilschmidt.”  
  
“I’ll take their orders,” Ludwig replies, slipping past him and out of the kitchen to the cash register.   
  
There are three women—one small, with dark hair in a bob, one blonde wearing more pink than Ludwig has ever thought entirely necessary, and one in a red shirt with a rather Lovino-like complexion, although much cheerier. This third one beams and extends a hand. “You’re Ludwig?”  
  
He shakes it quickly. “Yes. Um, not to be rude, but could you place your orders, please? The line…” Is not hellishly long, but it’s there.   
  
“Of course! I’d like a—” —she glances briefly at the chalkboard menu— “—a french dip sandwich? Also I’m Carmen, hi!”  
  
“Hello.”  
  
Next is the small one, who looks a little familiar. “Chicken dumpling soup, please?” She’s fiddling with her wallet as she speaks.  
  
“Yeah, and I’d like a turkey club but, like, can you do it without mayo?” The blonde nods at him, dangly earrings flashing. “Name’s Felicja.”  
  
“Of course.” Ludwig totals up their orders and makes good on his promise by knocking about five dollars off the total. He’ll pay that back later, anyway. “That’s eleven twenty-five.”  
  
“W-wait,” the shortest one pipes up, “that’s not—I counted—”  
  
“It’s okay,” Ludwig says hurriedly. “Um. I didn’t get your name?”  
  
“Sakura,” she says, clearing her throat quietly and shifting.  
  
Passing the order back to the kitchen, where Marianne, Chun-Yen, and Sadik are at work, Ludwig returns control of the register to Raivis with an “I’m going on lunch break” and slips out from behind the counter. He realizes roughly three minutes into the conversation at their table that he’s not good at talking to strangers. Which, in all honesty, Ludwig should have remembered beforehand. Carmen seems to be carrying most of the conversation, talking about how nice it is here and her job at the aquarium and her other job as a dance instructor and maybe that’s a good place to start.   
  
Ludwig clears his throat. “So. Um. Felicja. What’s your job?”  
  
She flips her hair out of her face. “Software design.” That’s a bit of a shock for Ludwig, her general demeanor suggests “fashion designer” or “horse trainer”, but then, how many people have done double takes when they learned he’s a baker? “It’s pretty cool, you get free food and the other guys are like really interesting.”  
  
Sakura seems to suddenly remember something, and turns to Ludwig. “Excuse me, but were you in the robotics club at Elihu Root High School?”  
  
“Um, yes, I—oh.” Something clicks in Ludwig’s head, some memories from senior year, this quiet, mousy freshman who did the best circuitry Ludwig ever— “Sakura  _Honda_?”  
  
“Ludwig  _Beilschmidt_?”  
  
Carmen perks up. “You two know each other?”  
  
“We were in robotics in high school together,” says Sakura quietly. Ludwig is geared up to say something like  _it’s great to meet you again_ , but then  _why_  they’re meeting rears up in the back of his mind and oh.   
  
Oh, no.   
  
Fortunately, Felicja appears to pick up on this and steers the conversation back over to jobs—well, majors for Sakura—and their food arrives and they don’t talk about any of their Its, at least not out loud.   
  
Ludwig has to leave after forty-five minutes because otherwise Sadik will yell at him, but they all end up agreeing to meet again.   
  
It’s… interesting, he can’t talk very well to strangers, but he could with them, and he wasn’t afraid.   
  
Perhaps he is making friends.   
  
It’s an encouraging thought. 

* * *

  
It is Thursday, 10:47 PM, three weeks, six days, twenty-two hours, and fifty-two minutes after It happened.   
  
Feliciano is thinking.   
  
Ludwig has fallen asleep beside him, but Feliciano knows he won’t sleep well, Ludwig never does these days, and the look in his eyes when he wakes up from a nightmare or comes out of a flashback or panic attack—the ashamed, I’m-sorry-I’m-so-weak look he tries to hide—nearly tears his heart out every time.   
  
Feliciano knows the bruises are gone, physically there’s no mark left on Ludwig, but he still doesn’t even take his shirt off in front of Feliciano, and Feliciano gets the feeling his ribs would be a bit more prominent than before and that’s only one of the reasons he hides it, because Ludwig told him once, haltingly, about how he feels cold and slimy and  _watched_  inside if he even thinks about not wearing clothes in front of people and Feliciano had tried not to be hurt by that but if Ludwig can’t even trust Feliciano with that—  
  
—no. No no no his thoughts are not going to go there, Ludwig doesn’t mean anything bad about Feliciano by that. He doesn’t mean he thinks Feliciano will hurt him.   
  
It still hurts.   
  
He needs an outlet. The pillow doesn’t work so much anymore, not for this deep, foreign anger rising out of the back of his mind—anger that someone hurt Ludwig, made him ashamed and scared and uncomfortable in his own skin, left more than bruises and took so much—  
  
Feliciano’s hands are balled into fists in his lap. He wants to—he doesn’t know what he wants, but one thing he knows is he wants to go out and hit something.   
  
The forums said get a hobby. 

Feliciano has never been good at martial arts, but something stirs in his mind—watching old Errol Flynn movies a few months ago, pretending to be a knight when he was little—and he slowly unclenches his fists.   
  
Swordfighting. There’s an idea.   
  
He could look it up, there’s probably some decently affordable classes somewhere, and it’s exercise and it’s fighting and it’d be a way to let out all the things he feels guilty showing in front of Ludwig, all the upset and anger that he needs out.   
  
Thinking about it—thinking about it calms Feliciano down, a little. Enough to sleep.   
  
He curls up against Ludwig and hopes they’ll sleep the whole night. 

* * *

  
It is Monday, 1:15 PM, one month, thirteen hours, and twenty minutes after It happened.   
  
Mr. Machado isn’t  _fat_  so much as he is outsize: he just seems to be built on a scale about one-tenth larger than most.   
  
He also keeps a box of chocolate cigars with him wherever he goes. He told Ludwig it’s to break a habit.   
  
Right now, Ludwig sits across from him, Feliciano at his side, and lets the news wash over him.   
  
“Trial could be in two weeks. Three, tops. It’s pretty clear-cut, which is lucky, ‘cause I’ve seen some cases that go on for months.” Mr. Machado fiddles with the chocolate-cigar box. “We’ll win. Really no question.”  
  
Ludwig nods, and he feels Feliciano’s hand tighten on his, and then he realizes he’ll have to testify.   
  
God.   
  
He hasn’t even talked about It to Feliciano, and only the bare minimum with Sakura and Felicja and Carmen and the forum, and in three weeks tops he’ll have to stand in front of a jury and judge and courtroom and talk about It to all of them, God, he can imagine the stares already—  
  
Deep breaths.   
  
If, at their last meeting at Felicja’s house while her girlfriend Julija was out, Felicja and Carmen and Sakura could talk about their Its—  
  
— _a few months after I started on estrogen in college and this total douchebag who’d been hassling me for a while said if you want to act like a woman then_ —  
  
— _almost twenty years ago, it was a man I was dating, he was very unpleasant but I thought I had to_ —  
  
— _I was at a party and this man cornered me in a guestroom, there is not much else to say_ —  
  
—he should be able to.   
  
He  _should_.   
  
Ludwig squeezes Feliciano’s hand back. “Is there anything else we need to know?”  
  
“We’ve already covered giving testimonial, so—right. Don’t talk to the defense. You don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, and especially not from the defense.”  
  
“All right.”  
  
“You’ll call us as soon as they schedule the trial, right?” Feliciano says.   
  
“Of course.” Mr. Machado sets aside the box. “Any more questions, you know my phone number.”   
  
Ludwig and Feliciano leave Mr. Machado’s office, and Ludwig tries very hard not to think that in three weeks tops he’ll be testifying about It people will _know_  and no he is not going to worry he is going to breathe and go back to work and leave the law offices and it will be okay.   
  
It will.   
  
He can do this.   
  
He should be able to. 

* * *

  
It is Friday, 4:37 PM, one month, eleven days, sixteen hours, and forty-two minutes after It happened.   
  
The trial came so fast—a week and a half—and sitting there, listening to Ludwig stumble his way through testimony, with Gilbert seething and Ludwig’s grandfather stone-faced and Lovino and Nonno glaring at the defense and Alfred shifting in his seat—he’d testified first—, was the hardest thing he’d ever done, or at least until he had to sit through the defendants’ testimonies and all he could do was hold Ludwig’s hand and grit his teeth.   
  
Court is adjourned now, and Feliciano finds Ludwig talking in a low voice to Gilbert and his grandfather, and wraps his arms about Ludwig’s waist and kisses his cheek. “So brave,” he whispers. “You’re so brave.”  
  
After testifying, Ludwig had been shaking so hard the judge had called a five-minute break and Feliciano had taken him outside and pulled him close and rubbed at the back of his suit jacket, patted his hair and tried to tell him it would be okay, he’d done such a good job; and Feliciano does that again now and Gilbert joins them almost immediately.   
  
Lovino and Alfred come in as well, and later Nonno, and they sit in silence and wait.   
  
And wait.   
  
What’s taking the jury so long?  
  
They keep waiting. At one point Alfred passes around some snack cookies, but Feliciano is too nervous to eat and, by the looks of it, so is Ludwig. All the stories he heard on the forum buzz inside his head, the acquittals and not-guiltys and too-little-evidences, and he knows there’s more than enough evidence but  _what if_ —  
  
The next two hours somehow simultaneously fly by and drag endlessly until they get the notice and court is called back into session. Feliciano files into the courtroom, still holding Ludwig’s hand, and they sit and wait and then one of the jurors stands up to read the verdict and—  
  
— _guilty_  washes over him like a wave, and next to him Ludwig sighs nearly inaudibly, and Feliciano just doesn’t pay attention to the rest because they’re guiltyguiltyguilty and that’s all that matters and then the judge says “Dismissed” and the absolute first thing Feliciano does is hug Ludwig so tight he thinks his arms’ll fall off and then hug Mr. Machado and say “Thank you thank you thank you” over and over again until Nonno detaches him.   
  
Then Nonno flings an arm around Mr. Machado’s shoulders and another around Ludwig and declares that he is taking everyone out for dinner, you wouldn’t deny an old man, would you?  
  
Alfred turns this into another group hug, and there’s barely any tension in Ludwig’s shoulders.   
  
Dinner is wonderful, and afterwards in bed Feliciano repeats what he said earlier,  _so brave, so strong_ , and kisses Ludwig after scratching  _prosecution_  off the list. 


	8. Chapter 8

It is Wednesday, 7:56 PM, one month, thirty days, twenty hours, and one minute after It happened.   
  
They’re both back on normal work schedules. Feliciano uses his Mondays off and Friday afternoons to go to fencing classes, and from what Ludwig hears, he’s improving. Ludwig has started running again in the morning, and on Carmen’s advice he might join a gym.   
  
He might also run home today, but that has less to do with exercise and more to do with the fact that it’s a bad day and he already stayed past closing to do the clean-up and let Mei go home early because Ludwig really didn’t want to go home during rush hour when the streets were full of people  _looking_.   
  
Placing the last dish back in its proper place, Ludwig squeezes his eyes shut for a second. He’s mopped the floors, twice, all the dishes are clean, so are the sink and counters, and he should lock up and leave before Feliciano starts worrying and there is no possible excuse to stay any longer except.   
  
Outside.   
  
God  _damn_  it, he should be over this, why isn’t he, why is he so weak, why can’t he do this, Ludwig should be able to open the door and lock it behind him and walk down the street and follow the route back to the apartment but every time he reaches for the handle his hand trembles and he retracts it with hot shame creeping up his throat.  _Pathetic_.   
  
Ludwig grits his teeth, remembers how Sakura had told him  _I know about that, everybody thinks they are being watched. I did. I do, sometimes._ but she could still walk to classes like normal, remembers Feliciano after the trial— _so brave, so strong_ —and bites down on his tongue while he pushes the door open and locks it behind him. One hand still grips at the handle, and he eases it off and glances around, sure someone noticed his odd behavior.   
  
The street is half-empty, late May night sky stained with cloud and city lights, and there is the faint murmur of people going about their Wednesday nights, and nobody is looking at him.   
  
Yet, whispers a voice, but once they notice you—  
  
Ludwig wheels around and begins walking down the street, nearly a march, and reminds himself that this is a Wednesday night, anybody out now certainly isn’t bothering themself with him, you should be able to do this.   
  
He still feels eyes at his back and something curls in his stomach, but it’s—it could be manageable. He can do this.   
  
Ludwig makes it nearly two-thirds of the way home before he really has to run, but that’s an achievement on a bad day, and he makes himself think on that instead of what the other pedestrians must’ve thought (although it doesn’t go away, but Sakura had said it really didn’t sometimes).   
  
It’ll do. 

* * *

  
It is Thursday, 9:51 PM, two months, seven days, twenty-one hours, and fifty-six minutes after It happened.   
  
Feliciano will have to broach the subject sometime. Sometime. He’ll have to.   
  
Honestly, he feels a little selfish about it, but one reason is he  _misses_  touching and kissing like he and Ludwig used to, before It, and showers are always more fun when he can wash Ludwig’s hair too, and he misses the sight of after when Ludwig is breathless and quick to smile and completely beautiful, and he just wants Ludwig to feel safe around him and know he can trust Feliciano and maybe please take his shirt off?  
  
“What?” Ludwig looks at him from his position cross-legged on the bed, setting down his book.   
  
“Um.” Feliciano toes at the carpet. “I was thinking maybe we could try to get you used to not wearing all your clothes all the time especially since summer’s coming and, um, you, I think you need to know it’s not something shameful or anything especially since it’s just me and I’ve seen it before and shirts seem like a good place to start and also maybe I could give you a backrub because you’re looking really tense all the time and that could help,” and he’s blabbering, time to stop and not overload Ludwig. “So. Um. That’s what I was thinking.” He looks up sheepishly. “And, um, if it helps I’ll take mine off too, so. Um.”  
  
Ludwig looks at him unreadably, and Feliciano hurries over to sit next to him, and slowly, a little shakily, Ludwig reaches up and begins to unbutton his shirt. Sighing in relief, Feliciano pulls his own over his head and takes Ludwig’s hands when he folds them in his lap and hunches his shoulders a bit defensively.   
  
“Look at me,” Feliciano gently says—a request, not an order—and smiles at him. Ludwig does, and relaxes a tiny bit. “There. See? It’s fine. Also can I hug you?”  
  
“All right.”  
  
Feliciano does so, very enthusiastically, and he’s missed the warmth of Ludwig’s skin so much, and they stay like this for however long, Feliciano’s not too good with time, and his hands begin to knead at Ludwig’s back of their own accord. He’s really kind of tense, Ludwig tended to stress out before It and It just made it worse, and Feliciano nudges him into turning around and digs his thumbs into the space between Ludwig’s shoulderblades, pushing.  
  
He talks about his day as he moves his hands up across to Ludwig’s shoulders, about the tourists who’ve started coming now it’s summer, and the student group he had to lead this morning who all definitely wanted to be on break and telling them about anything is tough, let alone Gothic devotional art, and Mrs. Karpusi had announced that summer hours will start in two weeks so he’ll be out late a lot, sorry, and I’m going to crack your back right now it might hurt— _don’t tense up!_ —okay, there, you’re doing  _great_ , you know?  
  
Ludwig shifts. “I, uh, feel better now, but I think that’s enough.”  
  
“M’kay.” Feliciano flops forwards against him, nuzzling into his neck. “Can you do my back now?”  
  
“I don’t really know how—”  
  
“You’d be good at it,” mumbles Feliciano, “you’ve got great hands.” He can feel Ludwig flush slightly and say something indistinctly.   
  
Ludwig does oblige eventually, and Feliciano drifts off in the middle, feeling the best he has in quite a while.   
  
Ludwig’s hands have stopped shaking. 

* * *

  
It is Monday, 7:34 PM, two months, seventeen days, nineteen hours, and thirty-nine minutes after It happened.   
  
Carmen and Sakura and Felicja are coming over for dinner, and Felicja is bringing Julija, and of all the days for Feliciano to forget to clean up after himself in the kitchen—!  
  
Ludwig scrubs harder at the countertop in a futile effort to remove tomato sauce stains, grumbling to himself as Feliciano sets the lasagna and string beans on the table set for six, which was a squish. It’s the first time they’ll meet Feliciano or see their apartment, and really the place should be clean on principle.   
  
“Ludwig, it’s  _fine_ ,” Feliciano says, hurrying to answer the doorbell—oh God the doorbell rang, and it’s Carmen and Sakura and Ludwig did not think of what could happen with Carmen and Feliciano in the same room, but now he is thinking of it and dear Lord.   
  
He follows the sound of introductions being made to the front door and catches Carmen squishing Feliciano’s cheek and Sakura looking perturbed. “Ah. Hello.”  
  
Sakura nods at him, taking off her flats, and Carmen has let go of Feliciano’s face to shake Ludwig’s hand. “Why didn’t you introduce him earlier,” she smiles, “he’s  _adorable_!”  
  
Grinning, Feliciano shuffles his feet and turns to Sakura.   
  
Felicja and Julija show up five minutes later, and everybody seems to hit it off quite well with Feliciano  _especially_  when they sit down to eat and taste the lasagna. Carmen, Felicja, and Feliciano carry about three-quarters of the conversation during and after dinner.   
  
At multiple points during said conversations, Ludwig, Julija, and Sakura share looks of extremely mutual understanding and sympathy.   
  
  
“They were  _nice_ ,” Feliciano mumbles later, in bed. “Should do that again.”  
  
“Mn,” Ludwig agrees. 

* * *

  
It is Sunday, 10:02 PM, three months, one day, twenty-two hours, and seven minutes after It happened.   
  
Feliciano is keeping another list.   
  
It reads:  
  
 _Shirt off: Success IIIIII Not I_  
  
Shirt and pants: Success III Not II  
  
Shower together: Success I Not I  
  
Cuddles: Success IIIIIIIIII Not 0 (without some clothes: success IIIII not I)  
  
He doesn’t show Ludwig this list for fear of pressuring him into filling up the ‘success’ lines even if he doesn’t want to.   
  
The time they’d showered together had been pretty great, though, and he’d even got to make Ludwig’s hair funny shapes with the shampoo. The other time… Ludwig had nearly frozen up and then said “Leave, please” in a low voice and wouldn’t talk about it afterwards.   
  
Tonight, he is going to try for no-shirt cuddling, since it’s been smooth sailing lately— the past three days have been good, he got to meet Julija again and she had advice even if it was quiet and Ludwig brought home extra cake from the café and the tour groups today were great except for the one kid but there’s always the one kid and Feliciano is just in a very good mood.   
  
So he presents his plan to Ludwig and they lie chest-to-chest on the couch and drink decaf even though Feliciano feels it’s just a bit sacrilegious but he doesn’t want to be up too late.   
  
“I think I’ll visit Lovino tomorrow,” he says. “Haven’t seen him in a while.”  
  
Ludwig nods and wraps his arms around Feliciano, who runs his hands up Ludwig’s back and settles down.   
  
He likes Ludwig’s back, it’s very smooth and very pale and his shoulderblades look nearly delicate and there are little dips at the small of it and seeing it means Ludwig trusts him. It feels warm under his fingertips.   
  
“Gilbert’s been asking after you,” Ludwig says quietly. “He’d like to see you sometime.”  
  
“Could probably do that.” Feliciano yawns and tries to think of what else to say. “There’s a tournament coming up in about two months, if you want to show up and be the fair damsel whose favors I carry—”  
  
Ludwig pulls back and flicks him on the nose. “I am not a damsel.”  
  
“Look good in aprons, though—hey!”  
  
“Well, your name would be Sir Feliciano the Noodle-Armed—”  
  
It’s like normal. 

* * *

  
It is Tuesday, 6:00 AM, three months, three days, six hours, and five minutes after It happened.   
  
Ludwig preemptively turns off his alarm clock.   
  
Next to him, Feliciano is sprawled out in his boxers, and the sight is endearing as usual— round face, curly hair, little smile— but it brings a twinge of nervousness to Ludwig’s stomach.   
  
Eventually they’ll have to talk about sex, and they’ll have to talk about It, and every time he thinks of sex with Feliciano he thinks about the part of It that still sends his guts into twisting knots and makes him so, so guilty inside even though logically he couldn’t have helped it but still it  _happened_ —  
  
He doesn’t want to connect that with Feliciano, to taint him by association, and still the thought of being touched like that sends shivers up and down his spine. And then Feliciano will be disappointed, which is bad, and try to hide it, which is worse, and—  
  
The forums and Felicja and Carmen all say take your time, go slow.   
  
Ludwig stares at the ceiling, mouth dry from sleep, and decides that coffee and a run should help.   
  
He changes silently, makes coffee and leaves some for Feliciano (who is still dead to the world), and sets off on the path he’s taken ever since they moved here. By the end of his run, his thoughts have cleared up, although his worries have not, and Feliciano is still out cold. Ludwig wakes him, points him towards the coffee, and takes a shower.   
  
If he can’t walk around in a towel where Feliciano can see without nerves rolling up in his stomach, how is he supposed to talk about sex?  
  
Ludwig tries to think encouraging thoughts about this, like  _you managed it your first time and didn’t die of embarrassment_ , but then he had just been operating through a fog of mild terror and crippling awkwardness and hadn’t been liable to freeze up if Feliciano touched him wrong.  _You’ll figure it out eventually_  could work, and Feliciano tends to be up-front about these matters, and the little voice that says  _you should have figured it out already, really, at this point you’re just being selfish_  he tries to block out.   
  
When he leaves the bathroom, hair damp, Feliciano smiles at him from the table.   
  
Ludwig resolves to start his own list of how to talk about this. 

* * *

  
It is Thursday, 3:42 PM, three months, five days, fifteen hours, and forty-seven minutes after It happened.   
  
Feliciano  _loves_  Alfred’s July Fourth parties, even though he’s not big on Miley Cyrus, but there’s a lot of food and a lot of people and they get to watch fireworks later from his backyard and Lovino and Gilbert got invited too and the one is trying to chat up one of Alfred’s coworkers and the other is complaining about the beer and Ludwig is talking to Katyusha with the sort of intimidated air he gets around her.   
  
Feliciano is currently trying to see how many watermelon slices he can eat before he gets bored of it, which isn’t much because Alfred shows up right next to him.   
  
“Feli! Long time no see!”  
  
“Hello, Al.”  
  
Alfred crunches some corn chips. “Lud doing okay?”  
  
“Much better.” Feliciano smiles to himself.   
  
“Great! Hey, whoa, your brother’s trying to pick up Lotte!” Alfred cranes his neck, trying to see past the snack table. “Think he’s got a chance?”  
  
“Could be,” Feliciano shrugs. “I don’t know her, though.”  
  
“ _Man_ , he blushes.”  
  
Feliciano giggles.   
  
  
Later, he finds Ludwig sitting by the fence, staring contemplatively at his slice of cake (red, white, and blue, and a bit too much frosting), and sits down next to him.   
  
“Alfred,” Ludwig begins, “is a wonderful person, but he has literally no taste in confectionery.” He prods the cake with his fork.   
  
Hm’ing, Feliciano leans against him. “Do you like the party, though?”  
  
Ludwig nods. “It’s okay.”  
  
“Good. I was kind of worried, ‘cause, you know, there’s a lot of people and I thought it might make you uncomfortable—”  
  
“I’m fine, Feliciano.” Ludwig sets down his plate, placing an arm around him nearly cautiously. “You know, Alfred invited me to my first ever Fourth of July party.”  
  
“Really?”  
  
“Yes. I was completely terrified. It was the most patriotism I’d ever seen in one place and I ended up sitting in the other room with Matthew eating ice cream.” Ludwig exhales. “And then Arthur came in and yelled at everyone about noise.”  
  
Feliciano laughs a little. “And you came back?”  
  
“I thought all the parties were like that or worse—stop laughing at me.”  
  
“Sorry. I bet my first was worse.”  
  
Ludwig raises an eyebrow.   
  
“Nonno was trying to be the cool American grandpa and it was the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever seen. And then he tried to put food coloring in the lasagna to make it red, white, and blue and it came out lavender and Nonna hit him with a spoon. But oh my God he kept trying to say things like “radical” and it was—Jesus. And “tubular” and “dawg”. Lovino almost cried.”  
  
Ludwig snorts.   
  
“Carlino did cry, but he was like two and I think he thought the lasagna was an alien or something. It looked really weird.”  
  
“Yours was worse.” Ludwig watches the cluster of people around the grill. “But he’s invited me to every one since then, and his taste in cake has not changed at all.”  
  
Feliciano hm’s again. Later, they will eat hamburgers and watch the fireworks and Gilbert will kidnap Ludwig to go get some decent beer (Alfred’s taste in beer also has not changed from Bud Light) and Lovino will kidnap Feliciano to introduce him to Lotte, but now, they are content to stay like this. 


	9. Chapter 9

It is Friday, 10:25 PM, four months, four days, twenty-two hours, and thirty minutes after It happened.  
  
“I’m sorry I’m  _sorry_ —”  
  
Ludwig can’t  _breathe_ —  
  
“—I’m so sorry please Ludwig look at me—”  
  
He can’t breathe and he feels cold all over and he’s shaking so hard and it’s his fault,  _It’s all his fault_ —  
  
“Take deep breaths please it’s okay you’re safe—look at me—”  
  
Ludwig manages to force his eyes open, meeting Feliciano’s wide brown ones.  
  
They’d thought he was ready. They’d been planning this for a week and a half and it had seemed to be going so well and he’d been able to initiate cuddling, which Ludwig knew had made Feliciano happy since he’d had trouble with things like that before It anyway, and they’d thought Ludwig was ready and he knew Feliciano had been as gentle as he possibly could but it still didn’t  _work_ , and it’s Ludwig’s fault, he knows it is, for not realizing that he wasn’t ready, for letting everything get far enough along that Feliciano thought he’d be okay, and he takes deep, ragged breaths and tries to slow the thunderous hammering of his heart.  
  
“Okay—okay, good, you need to breathe evenly—good—can you tell me five things you see?”  
  
Ludwig’s eyes flick nervously around the room, reminding himself where he is, and his voice rasps a little when he says “The wall, the nightstand, curtains, sheets, the lamp.”  
  
Feliciano moves to his side. “Four things you feel?”  
  
“Your hand. The blanket, the pillow. The fan.” Feliciano’s thin arms wrap around him, gathering him to his chest.  
  
“Three sounds?”  
  
“Cars.” His breathing has slowed, he doesn’t feel quite so cold anymore… “The fan. A—a dog, I think.”  
  
“Good. Two smells?” Feliciano’s fingers begin running through his hair.  
  
“You. Laundry detergent.”  
  
“Something you like about you?”  
  
“I’m reasonably intelligent.” Feliciano cradles Ludwig’s jaw in one hand, tangling the other in his still slightly sweaty hair, and kisses his forehead.  
  
They rest like this for a while, and eventually Ludwig feels mostly normal again, and Feliciano half-whispers “Lulu?”  
  
Ludwig looks up at him. “Mm?”  
  
“Can you—do you know what set you off?”  
  
Ludwig replays what they’d done in his mind, looking, and “I—” he pauses, bites his lip. “I don’t think it was anything specific.” It wasn’t, really, everything had seemed to be going more or less fine and then It had come creeping through the cracks the way It always did and Ludwig had locked up because it wasn’t Feliciano above him with gentle hands and slow movements but  _them_  and it  _hurt_  and Ludwig should have expected that, he should have.  
  
“Feel better?”  
  
“A—a little.” That’s not quite a lie.  
  
Feliciano keeps playing with Ludwig’s hair, occasionally trailing his hands across Ludwig’s shoulders, and Ludwig presses his ear to Feliciano’s chest and places his arms around his waist, and he could just possibly sleep like this.  
  
“Lulu?”  
  
“Yes?”  
  
“Do you w-want to talk about—about it? I mean you don’t have to but it might help I heard talking about these things can and besides if I know what happened I can try not to do anything that could remind you of what they did but. If you don’t want to you don’t have to if it makes you uncomfortable or anything.” Feliciano delivers this entire speech in one breath, eyes closed.  
  
Ludwig mulls this over—Feliciano should know, more than what he heard at the trial, at least, and talking about It with Felicja and Carmen and Sakura hadn’t been as difficult as he’d feared, and maybe he should, but.   
  
What if it just made Feliciano uncomfortable and disgusted?  
  
 _Shut up_ , he tells himself.  _He wants to know, if he was disgusted he’d have left you already._  
  
Moving from Feliciano’s grasp to sit next to him against the headboard, Ludwig clears his throat a little and says, “If— I do, but if you want me to stop, say so?”  
  
Feliciano nods, and Ludwig takes a deep breath and stamps down the fear rising inside him and begins to talk.  
  
About how he’d been at Densen’s with Alfred and Alfred had run into these three guys he knew from high school and started talking to them because that was what Alfred did, was talk to people, and one of them came to the Mask Café sometimes and always got a double espresso and cinnamon roll and now Ludwig still feels weird making cinnamon rolls but he didn’t then and they’d just talked.  
  
About how Alfred had left but Ludwig decided he could stay and talk some more, and started feeling weird halfway through his second beer, which was strange because he wasn’t a lightweight, and the three had offered to help him find a taxi.  
  
About how they’d taken him outside and then to their car in the backlot and he’d realized something was  _wrong_  but by then he could barely stand up straight and everything seemed to be moving ten times slower but it was still so fast how they pushed him down onto the backseat.  
  
About how much It had hurt.  
  
About how he had wanted to fight back, so much, but he couldn’t, he was too  _weak_  and they held him down and took turns and he had wanted to scream but there were hands on his throat and shoving his face into the backseat.  
  
About how despite the pain and the nausea rising the constant friction had made him—had made him  _hard_  and he’d wanted so, so badly to throw up.  
  
About how the burning shame and humiliation and helpless anger had torn through every inch of him along with the words they said, tossed around like it was nothing, like It was nothing, like  _he_  was nothing.  
  
Somewhere along the way, his voice begins to break and turn thick and Ludwig realizes he’s crying and so is Feliciano who doesn’t even need to ask for a hug, and neither does Ludwig, and Feliciano buries his face in Ludwig’s neck and Ludwig clutches him close and leans his head against Feliciano’s so his face is pressed against Feliciano’s soft hair and they stay like this, sobbing on each other, for quite some time. Ludwig doesn’t think he’s actually cried in front of Feliciano since they were in college and he’d broken down out of finals stress and papers due and too much work.  
  
“Thank you,” Feliciano whispers later, when they’ve changed back into pajamas and lain down. “Thank you.”  
  
Honestly, Ludwig thinks, Feliciano should not be the one doing the thanking.

* * *

  
It is Saturday, 2:56 PM, four months, twenty-six days, fifteen hours, and one minute after It happened.  
  
Feliciano got taken out third in the direct-elimination rounds, which is pretty good considering, and he was starting to get really sweaty and uncomfortable anyway, and he pulls off his mask as he trots over to Ludwig. Leaning his foil against the wall by the bench Ludwig is sitting on, he chirps “Your knight is mostly kind of victorious!” and plops himself down, grinning. “Bring any favors?”  
  
Ludwig rolls his eyes a little, but pats Feliciano’s back regardless. “You can have some cookies when we get home.”  
  
“Thanks!” Feliciano pulls off his glove, stretching out his fingers, and pushes his sweaty, clumped hair out of his eyes. “Do you want to go now, or—?”  
  
“N-not if you don’t want to.”  
  
Wiggling out of his lamé and jacket, Feliciano says “I’d like to go, actually, I need a shower.”  
  
He packs his stuff up and returns the uniform to Coach Vasilescu and carries his bag out, having almost mastered the art of not bonking anyone with it as he walks, and bounces around at Ludwig’s heels, all did-you-see-that-parry and I-thought-he-was-going-to-get-me and did-you-see-it-did-you-did-you-huh-huh-huh and he’s really really out of breath right now and should maybe stop talking so much.  
  
“Yes, I saw,” Ludwig says, slowing down enough for Feliciano to catch up.  
  
Feliciano beams.  
  
When they get home, he doesn’t shower with Ludwig, mostly because he’s really kind of stinky after the tournament and needs to fix that, but since they both took the day off, he spends the next few hours in his pajamas lying on top of Ludwig and eating chocolate-chip oatmeal cookies and they both get fake-angry at daytime TV.  
  
Things have gotten better since the beginning of the month, since Ludwig told him about It, and they haven’t tried actual penetrative stuff again yet, but last week they gave each other handjobs and it worked which is really really good and Ludwig hadn’t panicked or anything, and it’s just. Good. Not that there aren’t bad days, but there are less of them, and they got to have dinner with Sakura and she was really nice if kind of shy and right now Feliciano is warm and happy and full of cookies and feels like melting into a big puddle on top of Ludwig. Except that would be messy.  
  
Feliciano must be tired, he thinks. His thoughts are going a little weird again.  
  
“C’n I sleep on you?” He mumbles, and Ludwig ruffles his hair and says “Yes”, and Feliciano drifts off almost immediately.

* * *

  
It is Friday, 6:50 PM, five months, fifteen days, eighteen hours, and fifty-five minutes after It happened.  
  
Hanging up his apron, Ludwig dodges Manon with a mop and leaves the café, rolling his sweater’s sleeves back down.  
  
There is a car parked outside, and Felicja leans out of the passenger-side window and shouts “Get in, loser, we’re going shopping!”  
  
“I thought we were going to see a movie,” Ludwig replies.  
  
Felicja stares at him for a few seconds, then shrugs. “Get  _in_.”  
  
It’s a mark of pride, if a very private one, that he sits in the backseat next to Carmen with very little in the way of worry, just the little momentary twinge that he’s used to by now. “Hi.”  
  
“Hey there,” Felicja says, and Sakura nods at him from the driver’s seat, and Carmen says “There’s flour on your sweater, let me get that for you” by way of greeting and starts dusting off his dark blue sleeves, succeeding in getting at least some of the flour off.  
  
During the short drive to the movie theater, Ludwig learns that Felicja knows the lyrics to nearly every song on the radio and that Sakura is one of the best drivers he’s met, although this is coming from someone acquainted with Feliciano and Alfred, and that Carmen had apparently thought flour much easier to remove than it actually was. “I—thanks, but you’re making it—”  
  
“—Worse, I know.” Carmen blows some stray hairs out of her face. “Sorry.”  
  
“It’ll wash out, and I’ve had worse happen to my clothes anyway.”  
  
The movie they go to see, some sci-fi flick, isn’t bad, but then they end up going to Carmen’s condo for coffee, and the “How’s everyone doing?” question is brought up.  
  
“I went to a party,” Sakura offers, “and stayed the whole time. I also may have met someone.”  
  
“Good job!” Felicja exclaims. “What’s he like?”  
  
“Philosophy major. Likes cats.”  
  
Carmen taps at her chin. “One of my students is moving out of state soon. It’s very sad, I’ve had her since she was eight. Do you think a stuffed turtle is an appropriate going-away present?”  
  
Sakura shrugs, and Ludwig mutters “Probably better than a live one, at least.”  
  
“Not much’s been up lately. Got a new coat, though, ‘cause it’s fall, and it is this like fantastic pink, and the buttons are glittery and it is  _great_.” Felicja downs the rest of her coffee. “Lud?”  
  
“I’ve made… progress.” Ludwig folds his hands in his lap and stares at them.  
  
“Like what kind—oh my God you’re blushing.”  
  
He is. “Am not.”  
  
“Great job, man.” Felicja reaches across to high-five him, and Ludwig obliges.  
  
Carmen looks sort of confused, which is weird because she’s the oldest here and shouldn’t take as long as she does to get it.

* * *

  
It is Monday, 9:48 PM, six months, one day, twenty-one hours, and fifty-three minutes after It happened.  
  
They’re trying again. It’s not the second time they’ve tried, and Feliciano is admittedly a little worried that it won’t be the last—the last attempt, that is, the last time they’ll have to stop halfway through—, but it’s an attempt, and he’s going to make it good.  
  
He looks up into Ludwig’s eyes from the few inches which separate them. They’re half closed, blue and a little hazy, and he crooks his fingers one last time before pulling them out, drawing a small  _nnh_  from the (completely beautiful) man in his lap.  
  
“Are you ready?”  
  
Ludwig licks his thin lips, the “Yes, I am” coming out with little hesitation at all, and Feliciano can’t resist kissing him on the nose.  
  
“You’re sure?”  
  
“Yes.”  
  
Feliciano’s already got the condom on, and he guides Ludwig down and kisses him while he gets settled, kisses him until he stops biting his lips and opens his eyes, and runs his hands all along Ludwig’s sides until he nods “Okay” and Feliciano cants his hips upwards the slightest bit. Ludwig responds to that motion, shifts his hips downwards and wraps his burly arms around Feliciano’s shoulders, and slowly, so slowly, his movements gain confidence.  
  
Soon it’s nearly like how it was before It, on one of the nights where they’d be slow and gentle and quiet with each other, and Feliciano is smiling and the flush on Ludwig’s face is so familiar and so are the little baritone “ _ah_ ”s he lets out and so is the surprised gasp when Feliciano reaches down between his parted legs with one hand, keeping the other wrapped around Ludwig’s waist and rocking his hips up again.  
  
They’ve been working up to this for a while, and that was fun too, a lot of fun, and none of the times when they had to stop had ended quite as badly as the first time after It, and Feliciano’s missed the feeling of this so much, and he tries to keep in mind— _go slow, no teeth, no nails, keep close_ —and does, and plants kiss after kiss on Ludwig’s collarbone and neck and face and mouth until Ludwig is smiling too, a little dazedly but there, and he’s going to come soon but does that really matter next to the nearly inaudible German Ludwig keeps repeating and Feliciano can’t quite understand but he does, in that way the two of them have?  
  
Far, far too soon, Feliciano comes, shaking and sighing against Ludwig’s mouth, and he continues to stroke Ludwig until he earns a final, soft “ _ohh_ ” and a twitch of the hips, and then flops against him in really a very undignified manner, but that doesn’t matter.  
  
They lie against each other for a while, until Ludwig reaches out and grabs some tissues to wipe them off, and Feliciano pulls off the condom and as soon as he can he lies back down next to Ludwig, pressed against his chest, and mumbles contentedly. The mumble grows of its own accord, into a quiet but cheerful “You  _did_  it!” and a squeeze of the arms around Ludwig, an enthusiastic nuzzling against his clavicle. “You did it you did it you did it I’m so proud—kiss me?”  
  
Ludwig does, and Feliciano grins and responds wholeheartedly, flinging his arms around Ludwig’s shoulders as best he can in the post-coital haze, and Ludwig grins back and his eyes crinkle just the tiniest bit at the corners and there is nothing Feliciano can do but kiss him one more time and repeat “So proud—you’re so strong, you know? And brave and smart and really really pretty and I love you so so so much and—” He laughs a little, leaning again against Ludwig’s chest, and they rest curled around each other, and it feels like there’s a big warm bubble in his chest that just keeps growing.  
  
As he drifts off, he hears Ludwig murmur “Thank you,” and honestly, Ludwig should not be the one doing the thanking.


	10. Chapter 10

It is Sunday, 12:33 PM, seven months, twelve days, twelve hours, and thirty-eight minutes after It happened.  
  
Ludwig hasn’t met with the three since his birthday, a little more than a month ago (which had honestly been the largest birthday party he’d ever had in his life, and since there were around fifteen people there, Ludwig wasn’t entirely sure what that said about him), and it’s a relief to see them again and a relief to be indoors, away from the sudden rainstorm.  
  
Carmen waves at him as he enters the café, gesturing to a chair, and says “We already ordered you some coffee, you look freezing, sit down!”  
  
Ludwig does, gratefully wrapping his gloved hands around the coffee cup and taking a sip, and sighs. “Thanks.”  
  
The conversation resumes, about Sakura’s blossoming muddle with the philosophy major and Carmen’s enthusiasm over the new sea otter exhibit and Felicja’s project that’s almost completely coded, and then they turn to Ludwig.  
  
“I—” He really should tell them, but he’s just not entirely sure how, so he settles for just removing his gloves.  
  
Sakura catches on first, staring at Ludwig’s left hand, and then Felicja sees the ring and whoops, which makes Ludwig cringe a little because he doesn’t really want the whole café looking at him, and Carmen, grinning, exclaims “When did  _that_  happen?”  
  
Ludwig ducks his head— he’s blushing, he knows, he still can’t think of it without blushing—and mumbles “He proposed a week ago.”  
  
Before the meeting is over, he ends up in a group hug.

* * *

  
It is Wednesday, 11:04 AM, nine months, three days, eleven hours, and nine minutes after It happened.  
  
They got a dog a few weeks back, as a sort of early Christmas present, an adopted greyhound whose name Ludwig insists is Aster, Feliciano insists is Linguini, and Gilbert insists is Awesomesauce. Lovino didn’t offer input beyond “At this rate you should just name her ‘dog’ or ‘you’ or something.”  
  
Ludwig ended up winning, on the condition that he had to housetrain her, and it seems to Feliciano that he’s doing pretty well with that. He still calls the dog Linguini when Ludwig is out of earshot.  
  
Right now, she’s lying on Feliciano’s stomach, and Feliciano’s head is resting on Ludwig’s stomach, and they’re all on the living room floor dozing off the New Year’s party. Ludwig is reading some book he got for Christmas and occasionally yawning hugely, which makes Feliciano yawn, which makes Aster yawn, which makes Feliciano laugh a little.  
  
If this is what being engaged is like— _wedding in three weeks_ , comes the reminder, from where it’s been hovering at the back of his mind ever since he dropped to his knees in the entrance of the apartment and pulled the ring box out of his jacket—Feliciano could definitely get used to it.

* * *

  
It is Friday, 11:55 PM, one year after It happened.  
  
One year ago, Ludwig Beilschmidt was awake and lying on the rough pavement of a backlot, watching a car drive away but not really registering it because It was still roaring through his mind, blotting out anything else.  
  
Now, Ludwig Beilschmidt is awake and lying in his bed, clean sheets and warm duvet, watching Feliciano Vargas snore quietly but not really registering it, because the sight is familiar and he’s thinking more about how exactly to bake tomorrow’s menu and when will he have time to walk Aster and it’s late and he should sleep.  
  
He does, deep and dreamless.  
  
(Here is what has changed:  
  
Ludwig doesn’t go to bars anymore.  
  
Feliciano is one of Coach Vasilescu’s best students.  
  
The bad days and nights still come around.  
  
They have to be more careful about what movies they watch.  
  
Either Carmen, Sakura, or Felicja comes over at least once a month, or Ludwig and sometimes Feliciano goes over to see them.  
  
Gilbert and Lovino are both a little more protective.  
  
There are days when, during sex, Ludwig has to pull away and say stop, stop, I can’t do this.  
  
Them.  
  
Here is what hasn’t changed:  
  
Ludwig makes Feliciano coffee in the morning.  
  
Feliciano cuddles as much as he can.  
  
Sometimes they stay up late and watch cheesy sci-fi movies.  
  
They listen to the radio in the kitchen.  
  
Alfred and Yekaterina come over occasionally, and they said when she gives birth Ludwig and Feliciano can be honorary uncles.  
  
There are days when Ludwig is the one to start things, to grab Feliciano around the waist and kiss him senseless on the couch.  
  
Feliciano is in love with Ludwig.  
  
Ludwig is in love with Feliciano.  
  
They plan to stay that way.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay so there are endnotes too!
> 
> Ludwig is lucky. He didn’t contract any STDs, his rapists were convicted, his relatives and friends didn’t blame him, and he had Feliciano. Lots of rape victims aren’t that lucky.
> 
> Um, the resources I used were:
> 
> http://www.ibiblio.org/rcip/partners.html
> 
> http://www.pandys.org/secondarysurvivors.html
> 
> and the sites linked there.
> 
> If anyone reading this went through anything like what happened to Ludwig (or Carmen or Sakura or Felicja), I am so proud of you for making it this far. There are a lot of resources out there for you (rainn.org is a good place to start) and you’re fucking awesome.
> 
> Thank you for reading, and if you want to leave a comment I'd certainly appreciate any feedback you may have!


End file.
